Come and Sit

Charlie Benkert

The chair is pure acrylic white,
but I’m covered in filth as dark as night
and I’m just trying to be polite
when He says, “Come and sit.”

​

“I can’t.” says I. “I am not clean.
I do appreciate it, I mean,
but at your table? I shouldn’t be seen.
I cannot come and sit.”

​

“I could never sit so high.
I’ve got too many worries.” I say with a sigh.
“I’m not good enough!” I shout as I cry.
“Not enough to come and sit.”

​

“My child,” says He with an echoing roar,
“I’ve already covered your every flaw.
Why else would you be right here at my door?
It’s because I want you to sit.”

​

He holds me as I sob against his chest.
“My child, it’s time to put worry to rest.
You belong to me now; you’re no longer a guest.
You’re always welcome to come and sit.”